


Of Dragons & Wolves

by DaronwyK



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: BAMF Starks (ASoIaF), Canon Divergence Season 8 Rewrite, Crypts of Winterfell, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, F/M, Fix-It, Westerosi Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25965628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaronwyK/pseuds/DaronwyK
Summary: Ice and Fire have come together to defeat the dead. Birthrights and destiny will be fulfilled, but not in the way many expect. Fix-it Fic for Season 8.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 41
Kudos: 115





	1. Return to Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: After the disaster of GoT Season 8 I was left with a burning need to re-write it. It will begin in the same place, and mirror the early episodes closely. There were some beautiful shining moments and those will live on, but it will diverge very sharply from canon at the Battle of Winterfell. To be clear, I love BOTH Sansa and Dany, and I felt that they both deserved much better than they were given by the show-runners. Ok...let's be fair, ALL the characters deserved better. I will attempt to remedy some of the glaring deficits. I don't promise a completely happy ending for everyone, but I hope it will at least be satisfying.

**o.o.O.o.o**

Sansa had been up since well before dawn. There had been endless preparations to make for Jon’s return and to receive this Targaryen Queen he was bringing back with him. Little Finger was dead, but his words were still a poison in her mind. She truly didn’t believe that Jon had betrayed the North for his own gain, but a tiny part of herself wondered if perhaps he had given them up for desire. The dragons were…terrifying, to be completely honest. Men and armies she could manage, but these creatures were beyond anything she could imagine planning to defend against. Winterfell wouldn’t stand against dragon fire, safety could only be found perhaps deep in the crypts. She could see the procession approaching and called for Lord Royce to gather everyone in the courtyard. Ready or not, it was time to meet the woman Jon had committed them to following.

She stood tall and still as Jon rode into the courtyard and her heart swelled with joy. He was home and whole. A smile crossed her lips as he spotted Bran and dismounted. He strode over and pressed a kiss to Bran’s forehead, his joy clear. Jon did nothing in half-measures and when it came to his feelings there was never any doubt about them.

“Look at you, you’re a man!” Jon’s voice was thick with emotion.

“Almost,” Bran replied.

Jon seemed to sense the otherness that Sansa had only just begun to grow accustomed to. He looked up at her and she gave him a reassuring smile. It was a look that promised later explanations, away from the eyes of strangers. He stood and she opened her arms for him, embracing him warmly, as if nothing had changed. There was something about his arms that made her feel warm, something she only felt when he was near. That brief joy died as she spotted the woman he’d brought home with him. A hard flare of jealousy surged through her and the happiness melted off her face, leaving only chilly contemplation.

Daenerys Targaeryn was beautiful. Her silver hair was braided intricately away from her face, and that only seemed to make her amethyst eyes all the more striking. She kept her gaze fixed on her as Jon made the introductions.

“The North is as beautiful as your brother claimed, as are you,” Daenerys said with a pretty smile that didn’t entirely reach her eyes.

She could feel the hard stares of her bannermen, the glare of Lady Lyanna Mormont in particular. Her response needed to be appropriate and not overly warm. Jon had bent the knee, but the Northerners had sacrificed too much to be happy about losing the freedom they had bled for. She could not warm to pretty compliments, and she was no longer the little girl who craved them.

“Winterfell is yours, your Grace,” Sansa said. There was something in the other woman’s words and tone that made her skin crawl. She’d learned the hard way to listen to her instincts and everything inside of her was screaming. She’d felt that way the day she’d met Ramsey, and the words echoed Cersei’s from so long ago. ‘And you are a beauty.’ She saw the woman’s smile falter there, a glimmer of the real person behind the mask.

“We don’t have time for this. The Night King has your dragon; he’s one of them now. The Wall has fallen. The dead march south.” Bran interrupted them.

Sansa’s eyes took in every expression that crossed Daenerys’ face, including the horror about the perversion of her dragon. Jon looked to her and she simply nodded. “Much has happened and there’s little time for pleasantries. Bran is right about that. Please, come into the Hall, there is much we need to discuss.” She turned and headed inside, expecting them to follow. 

There was so much she wanted to say to Jon, but she didn’t dare. Especially not now. Not here. She forced her emotions down and locked them away where they couldn’t torment her. There were too many eyes on her today to risk anyone suspecting the true root of her distaste for the Targaryen Queen. Let them think it was wounds of the past. It was safer that way. 

  
  


o.o.O.o.o

Jon sat at Sansa’s side in the Great Hall, watching as she commanded the room with ease. He could see the guarded expressions and barely veiled looks of contempt being levelled at Dany. In response most of the Lords seemed to be looking to Sansa, rather than him or their new Queen. Even little Lord Umber, who Sansa would have happily banished from the North a few months ago, made his request for men and wagons to her first, belatedly address him and then Dany as uncertain afterthoughts.

“You’ll have as many as we can spare. Hurry back to Last Hearth and bring your people here,” Sansa said, a small encouraging smile on her lips.

It was the first hint of the Sansa he knew since she’d laid eyes on Dany. He looked to the Maestor and commanded him to call the Night’s Watch to Winterfell, and then he winced as Lyanna Mormont spoke up. Clearly, she took offense to the Maestor mistakenly calling him ‘your Grace’.

“Your Grace?” She stood and walked before the table. “But you’re not, are you? You left Winterfell a King and you came back…I don’t know what you are now. A Lord? Nothing at all?” Her disgust and disappointment were clear. And he knew that everyone else in the room was thinking it too.

“It’s not important,” he said, though it hurt to say it.

“Not important? We named you King in the North,” she said to raucous calls of agreement.

He looked to Sansa, but found no help there. Her expression was completely blank, and it was like a blade. She agreed with Lady Mormont, but wouldn’t publicly take a stand against him. 

“You did, my Lady. It was the honour of my life, and I’ll always be grateful for your faith.” Jon looked back to Lyanna. They deserved an explanation, he knew that. He stood and took a deep breath. “But when I left Winterfell, I told you that we needed allies or we would die. I brought those allies home, to fight alongside us. I had a choice, keep my crown or protect the North.” He wanted to believe those words, but they tasted like ash on his tongue. “I chose the North.” The grumbles of discontent continued, and he knew they would never forgive him. He could read the word in their eyes, hiding just below the ones they dared to speak. Traitor.

Tyrion Lannister was the one to stand, and try to calm the Northerners. He had hoped that Sansa would speak for him, but she remained silent. Then when he mentioned the Lannister army, the calls of discontent nearly drowned him out and Jon fought the urge to wince and close his eyes. It was exactly the wrong thing to say to a hall full of discontented Northerners.

“May I ask how we are meant to feed the greatest army the world has ever seen?” Sansa leaned forward, fixing her icy look on Tyrion. “While I ensured that our stores would last through winter, I did not account for Unsullied, Dothraki, and two fully grown dragons. What do dragons eat, anyway?” she asked.

Jon did flinch a little, realizing that he hadn’t taken into account the strain they’d be putting on Winterfell and it’s resources.

“Whatever they want,” Daenerys said with a smirk and leveled a cold look at Sansa.

Jon wanted to melt into the floor right about then. The room seemed to explode into dozens of voices fighting to be heard. He could feel the cool rage at his right as Sansa didn’t respond to Daenerys' fairly obvious threat, but the Northern Lords were clearly outraged on her behalf.

“You will excuse me then, while I see to the needs of ‘the Greatest Army ever seen’,” Sansa said and stood, leaving the room. Lord Royce and Brienne fell into step behind her and Jon watched her go.

Getting the two women to work together was going to be harder than he’d anticipated. He’d expected Sansa to have reservations, but not this. He finally snarled at the Lords and called an end to the squabbling. He looked to Dany, and tried to apologize without words. He had warned her that earning the trust of the North would take work, but he feared that unless he could get Sansa to accept her…it was a hopeless cause. 

  
  


o.o.O.o.o

“For the time being, we will support Jon. He’s right, we do need allies to defeat the Dead,” Sansa said to Lord Royce as they watched the wagons of dragon glass being unloaded. “I will send ravens and try to come up with the provisions we need.” She had no idea how to do it, but the armies were here and needed to be fed if they were going to fight. She could feel a splitting headache coming on as she tried to think of where to pull from.

“Your cousin had been stockpiling provisions in the Vale, I am certain he would assist you in the short term,” he said quietly.

“I have no wish to leave the Vale in a precarious position coming into Winter.” She shook her head. “He’s been kind enough to allow you to remain here for my protection, I can ask no more of House Arryn.” Under the guidance of some of his older, more experienced Lords, her cousin was turning into an intelligent and shrewd young man. After Littlefinger’s execution, she had written to him and offered to return his army. He’d insisted that she keep them there, until the North was stable and she was no longer in danger. 

“You will find a way, my Lady. I have faith in you.” He smiled kindly at her.

“My Lord, my Lady.” Tyrion’s voice interrupted them.

Sansa nodded to Lord Royce that it was alright for him to leave. She wasn’t afraid of Tyrion, no matter what she thought of his choice of Queen.

“My Lady.” Royce bowed respectfully and withdrew, pointedly ignoring Tyrion.

“Lady of Winterfell, it has a nice ring to it.” Tyrion approached hesitantly, his words lacking they’re customary teasing tone.

“So does Hand of the Queen, depending on the Queen, I suppose,” she said and looked away over the courtyard. She hated that her bitterness was so hard to contain. She didn’t like that it was taking control of her and she needed to find a way to strangle it down. Tyrion served Daenerys, and while he had always been decent to her, he would have a duty to tell the Queen of her open dislike.

“The last time we spoke was at Joffrey’s wedding, miserable affair.” He seemed to repress a shudder.

“It had its moments.” She smirked a little, remembering the exact shade of purple that Joffrey had turned as he’d choked to death. It was something she never wanted to forget. She looked down at Tyrion and frowned. “Apologies, for leaving like that.” She turned away.

“Yes, it was rather hard to explain why my wife fled moments after the King’s murder,” he said, a tiny bit of anger coming through.

She stopped and looked back at him, feeling a little of her own anger stirring. She was not his wife, and she didn’t have to answer to him. She belonged to no one but herself and she had bled for that right.

“We both survived.” She was not going to offer any other apology. She didn’t owe him any more than that. If he expected undying gratitude for the simple act of not forcing himself on her, he was going to be waiting a long time. 

“Many people underestimated you, most of them are dead now,” Tyrion said shrewdly, his eyes examining her face.

She walked back to the railing, willing to acknowledge that he was right. It was a simple fact that she was still standing, when many of those that had hurt her were rotting in the ground. Some she’d even put there herself.

“I imagine you weren’t thrilled to hear the Lannister Army was marching North.” Tyrion continued. “You have every right to be fearful of my sister, no one fears her more than I, but I promise you…”

“Cersei told you her armies were coming north, to fight for you?” She broke in, working very hard not to laugh out loud. It was ridiculous that he seemed to think that they were coming, and even more incredible that he had any ability to protect her from them if they did. It had been a very long time since she’d needed Tyrion’s dubious protection.

“She did,” he said.

“And you believed her?” How had she never seen just how utterly blind Tyrion was about his family? Sending her army to fight in the North to support her rivals was the very last thing she’d do. It would weaken her forces and position in the event that they won, and also put her men right in Daenerys’ grasp the moment the dead were defeated. It was beyond foolhardy, and Cersei was no fool. 

“She has something to live for now. I believe she wants to survive.”

“I used to think you were the cleverest man alive.” Sansa shook her head and walked away. So, Cersei was with child again. Or at least she had convinced Tyrion that she was. Given the Queen’s age, she had doubts that she could honestly be pregnant. Cersei was the queen of manipulation, and a child was just the bait to get Tyrion to believe her. Fools. All of them.

  
  


o.o.O.o.o

The Godswood had always reminded him of father. There was a strange kind of peace to be found under the branches of the ancient weirwood. Right now, peace was what Jon needed most. Daenerys was getting settled into her rooms, and he needed to sort through the tangle of feelings sitting like a lump of iron in his gut. He didn’t like the sudden distance between him and Sansa, it reminded him too much of those early days when they’d fought to find a balance between them. Gods, he missed those arguments. The intense push and pull, but then they’d come together. If he was honest, that was what worried him the most. She hadn’t fought with him, just quietly accepted it with a look of profound disappointment and almost betrayal.

“You used to be taller.”

“How did you sneak up on me?” Jon turned, feeling a familiar swell of warmth.

“How did you survive a knife through the heart?” Arya asked, holding herself very still.

“I didn’t.” He felt a smile cross his face as she ran into his arms. He scooped her up, lifting her like he had so long ago. For so long he’d thought her dead, and now she was here alive and well. He set her back down, and felt his smile widen even further. “You still have it.” It meant a lot that she’d kept Needle.

“Needle.” She drew the sword and offered it to him.

“Have you ever used it?” He hoped to the Gods that she’d never had to.

“Once or twice.”

There was a shadow that passed through her eyes, and he mourned the truth that she’d had to kill. He fell quiet as she took it back and resheathed it. Then her eyes found Longclaw, and she smiled a little. He chuckled and drew it, offering the sword to her. She took it and felt its weight in her hands before looking up to meet his eyes.

“Valyrian Steel.”

“Jealous?” The banter felt so familiar, and it was like stepping back in time, when things were simpler.

“Too heavy for me.” She handed it back.

“Where were you before? I could have used your help with Sansa.” He rested his hand on her shoulder, leaning in close.

“She doesn’t like your Queen, does she?” Arya didn’t sound too surprised by that.

“Sansa thinks she’s smarter than everyone else.” It was maddening sometimes. At least Arya would understand, he remembered how often he’d had to listen to her complain about her older sister. Usually after Septa Mordane had been lecturing about what a perfect Lady Sansa was.

“She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met,” she said very seriously then.

“And you’re defending her, you?” He blinked at her, his hand falling off her shoulder.

“I’m defending our family. So is she.” She met his eyes, the words falling heavy between them.

“I’m her family too,” Jon said, swallowing thickly. He’d never imagined Arya siding with Sansa before him, and it made him wonder if he was on the right side of things. He was still feeling off balance as she gave him a small smile and hugged him.

“Just don’t forget that,” she whispered into the fur of his cloak.

After a short while, Arya headed back to the hall. He sat down beneath the tree and closed his eyes. He’d imagined his reunion with Arya a thousand times, but there was something missing. There was a distance between them now, and it was a bitter brew to realize he’d put that distance there by choosing Daenerys. That had been the price of getting her armies here, bending the knee and convincing her that he loved her.

  
 _‘But you don’t love her, do you?’_ A traitorous voice whispered darkly in the back of his mind. She was a beautiful woman, and he couldn’t deny that he’d enjoyed being in her bed. But the whole time he’d been with her, he’d been thinking about getting home. Getting back to Sansa. He sighed and shook his head, driving those dangerous thoughts away. He had things to see to, and he needed to try and smooth things over with Dany. He couldn’t risk a war between her and Sansa, not when the stakes were so high. They needed to defeat the dead, nothing else mattered. 


	2. Simmering Tension

**o.o.O.o.o**

  
  


Sansa threw down her quill in frustration. She was going to need to contact the Iron Bank. There was just no other solution for the food shortage that the North would be facing in the wake of the fight against the dead. A somewhat cynical part of her decided that sending that particular raven could wait until after the battle. No sense indebting herself if they all ended up dead. At least with funds from the Iron Bank, she could purchase grain and supplies from Essos and that would keep all her people fed through the winter. There was never any telling how long it would last, and if they were unlucky enough to be facing one of the longest on record…she refused to let her people starve. The Kings and Queens of Winter had no duty more important than sustaining the North through the dark and cold.

She massaged her temple and put the letter aside. She would look it over again in the morning and have it sent once the battle was over and she knew exactly what their situation was. She could only hope that the battle would come soon, as reports of what the Dragons alone were eating was staggering. Sheep and goats that they’d been depending on for meat and milk had been diverted to the massive beasts. She’d had to give promissory notes to the farmers for their animals, and listen to their very loud complaints all afternoon. And Jon was of course nowhere to be found. Apparently he was off riding dragons with his new Queen.

Sweet mother that term made her stomach turn. She hated the idea of her, and worse that this woman had taken Jon away from her side. Determined not to think about it anymore, she reached for the raven scroll that Maester Wolkan had brought to her. As she read, there was a knock at her door.

“Come in,” she called, and saw that it was Jon. She turned her eyes back to the scroll. “Lord Glover wishes us good fortune, but he’s staying in Deepwood Mott with his men.”

Jon tossed his leather gloves onto the table and shook his head. “House Glover will stand behind House Stark, as we have for a thousand years.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. Jon’s surprise was predictable, but the Glovers would not be the only ones to reject them now.

“Is that not what he said?” Jon asked.

“I will stand behind Jon Snow, he said. The King in the North.” Sansa stood, unable to contain her anger for a second longer. She fixed him with a hard look before crossing the room for a fresh scroll.

“I told you we needed allies.”

“You never told me you were going to abandon your crown.” She couldn’t even look at him.

“I sent you a raven, just after I first met with Daenerys. I told you that I might need to submit to earn the help we needed. You never replied,” Jon said, sounding confused. “I assumed you were just angry with me.”

“I never received anything until your raven declaring that you’d pledged yourself and all of us to her.” Sansa turned and looked at him, and then it hit her like a lightning bolt. Baelish. Of course. What better way to stoke division between them than to make certain that Jon’s communications never reached her, until they said the last thing she wanted to hear. “Littlefinger…he must have destroyed it before I could read it.”

“What happened with Lord Baelish?” Jon asked, eyes searching her face. “When I left…I thought he was our ally.”

“He was only ever on his own side, and used whoever he could to advance his own ambitions. Once Arya and Bran returned, he started to play his games again, seeking to turn Arya and I against one another. Just like he had with my mother and her sister. He just didn’t realize that we both knew exactly what he was up to. So we let him think that he was winning and then we made him pay for everything he’d done,” Sansa said and sighed. “He started the whole war between the Starks and Lannisters, he’s the reason father is dead, and Rob, and mother, and Rickon. He wanted to make himself King, using me and the Stark name to make it happen.”

“But how…” Jon looked confused.

“He created chaos, and in that mad scramble he started seizing power. I don’t know his exact plan, but I do know his ultimate vision was placing himself on the Iron Throne, with me as his queen so he could use my blood to legitimize his rule. As if I’d ever forgive him for what he’d done. Bran filled in the pieces I didn’t know, but I knew enough. He got exactly what he deserved, and the Northern Lords got to see justice being done. It was necessary,” Sansa said and took a breath. “Perhaps bending the knee to Daenerys was also necessary, but you have no idea the consequences of giving up your crown.” She turned away and walked to the window looking out at the night. 

“I never wanted a crown, Sansa. All I wanted was to protect the North.” He came to stand behind her. “I brought two armies home with me. Two dragons. We need them.”

“Two armies, two dragons, and a Targaryn Queen.” She turned and had to clench her fists to try and keep from saying what she really wanted to.

“Do you think we can beat the army of the dead without her?” Jon asked, a muscle in his jaw tightening. “I fought them, Sansa. Twice. You want to worry about who holds what title, I’m telling you it doesn’t matter. Without her, we don’t stand a chance!” He stopped there and took a deep breath, lowering his voice and meeting her eyes. “Do you have any faith in me at all?”

“You know I do.” She hated the tears she could feel stinging her eyes. Gods save her, but she did trust him. More than anyone. He moved closer and she wished he wouldn’t, it was so hard to keep her control when he was that close.

“She’ll be a good Queen, for all of us. She’s not her father.”

“No. She’s much prettier.” Sansa took a breath and found her control. She tried to swallow down the bitterness, but it didn’t want to leave. “Did you bend the knee to save the North? Or because you love her?” She had to know. He stepped back then, giving her the only answer she needed. Sansa just shook her head. “I have work to do.” She walked past him and left the room, not able to look at him again. He’d sold out the North for a pair of pretty purple eyes and a couple dragons. A North that they’d freed together. Ruled together. How quickly that had been forgotten.

“My Lady, are you well?” Brienne asked as she hurried past her.

“I just need some time alone. Will you escort me to the Godswood?” She asked her faithful guardian.

“Of course, my Lady. You should grab a heavy cloak, it’s cold tonight.” There was clear concern on Brienne’s face, but she didn’t pry.

Sansa nodded and together they returned to her chambers for the cloak, before heading out into the darkness. 

**o.o.O.o.o**

Jon walked through the Crypts, the look in Sansa’s eyes driving him from the Castle. Daenerys was expecting him in her chambers, but there was too much in his head for him to go to her. He’d expected Sansa to be angry, perhaps even a little cool toward Dany at first, but he hadn’t anticipated the look of raw betrayal in her eyes tonight. Around everyone else she was the Lady of Winterfell, calm and collected, the woman that had greeted Dany in the Courtyard and appeared before the Lords. He wondered sometimes if he was the only one she let see the real Sansa. He’d seen the glint of tears and the tremble in her lips as he’d tried to get her to understand what he’d done, but then it had disappeared and the Lady of Winterfell had appeared before his eyes. He’d driven her away.

He came to a stop in front of his father’s statue. He lit the candles and looked at the face of the man he’d spent his whole life trying to be like.

‘I wish you were here. I wish you could tell me that what I’m doing is right. I hate hurting her, but it’s the only way to keep from hurting her even more.’ He closed his eyes and swallowed. The things he felt for Sansa weren’t brotherly in nature, and he was ashamed of that. The need to protect her was acceptable, and the affection he allowed himself to show could be interpreted as brotherly. But when anyone dared look at her, he wanted to rip out their eyes and the swell of possession he felt was not what a man should feel for his sister. He wondered if she felt the same about him. If she did, her reaction to Dany would make sense.

‘I love her, more than she knows. More than I should. I promised to keep her safe, and bringing Daenerys here was the only way to do that.’ He clenched his fist tight and tried to wrestle his feelings back into the box he tried to keep them in. He was interrupted by the sound of someone falling down the steps into the Crypts. He frowned.

“Sam?” He watched as Sam got up off the ground.

“I’m sorry…I know I’m not supposed to be down here.” He started to apologize, but Jon moved forward and hugged him tightly. He was so very glad to see him.

“Were you hiding from me?” he grinned.

“Of course not…” he tried to joke, but it fell strangely flat.

“What are you doing in Winterfell? Did you read every book in the Citidale already?” he grinned, still trying to figure out what could have possibly brought him back North so soon. Then he saw the glint of tears. “What’s wrong?” his stomach fell. “Is it Gilly? Is she alright?”

“She’s good.” His voice was thick with pain.

“Little Sam?” Please let it not be him.

“Don’t you know?” Sam shook his head, looking at him expectantly.

“Know what?”

“Daenerys. She executed my father and brother,” Sam said. “They were her prisoners and she burned them alive. She didn’t tell you.”

Jon felt his stomach plummet down to his knees, trying to justify this against what he’d seen from her. He stepped back a little and shook his head. “I’m so sorry.” He knew Sam and his father weren’t on the best terms, but he had loved his brother. He knew what that pain felt like all too well. “We need to end this war.” So many deaths, so many families destroyed. 

“Would you have done it?” Sam asked then.

“I’ve executed men that have disobeyed me,” he avoided the question. They both knew that burning men alive wasn’t something he would ever do. No matter the reason.

“You’ve also spared men. Thousands of Wildlings when they refused to kneel!”

“I wasn’t a king.” He tried to rationalize something that he knew had no rationalization.

“But you were, you always have been.” Sam’s tone was strange.

“I gave up my crown, Sam.” He turned away, that truth more painful every time he had to admit it. It tore open the wound each time someone looked at him like that. “I bent the knee. I’m not King in the North anymore.” He started walking away. He couldn’t keep defending it because the more he had to, the more he regretted it.

“I’m not talking about the King in the North. I’m talking about the King of the Bloody Seven Kingdoms!” Sam followed, shouting after him.

Jon stopped dead and turned. Some horrible whisper in the back of his mind told him to listen.

“Bran and I worked it out. I have a High Septom’s diary, and Bran has…well whatever Bran has. It doesn’t really matter how, because all the details match too perfectly to not be true.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your mother was Lyanna Stark and your father, your real father, was Rhaegar Targaryn. You’ve never been a bastard. You’re Aegon Targaryn, true heir to the Iron Throne,” Sam said. “I’m sorry, I know it’s a lot to take in.”

Jon felt everything falling out from under him. He was shaking inside and the truth was both beautiful and horrible all at once.

“My father was the most honourable man I’ve ever met.” He’d tried to be like Ned his entire life, to try and make his father proud. To find out that Ned wasn’t really his father, that he’d lied to him his entire life was too much to accept. “Are you saying he lied to me, all my life?”

“Your father…Ned Stark I mean…he promised your mother that he’d always protect you and he did. King Robert would have murdered you if he knew. You’re the true king, trueborn son of the crown prince. Aegon Targaryn, 6th of his name, Protector of the Realm. All of it.”

“Daenerys is our Queen…” The words were barely more than a whisper, a desperate plea. He’d never wanted to be a King or a Lord. He’d only ever wanted to be a Stark. To be Jon Stark. His name had never even been Jon at all.

“She shouldn’t be.”

“That’s treason…” He shook his head instantly.

“It’s the truth. Truth should never be treason.” Sam met his eyes, a fierceness there. “You gave up your crown to save your people, would she do the same?”

Jon closed his eyes because he knew the answer. He’d known it five minutes after meeting her at Dragonstone. There was nothing Dany wanted more than the Iron Throne.

“I…I need some time to think about this,” Jon said after a long moment. “Sam…you can’t tell anyone. Not yet.”

“I’ll keep quiet, but you deserved to know the truth,” Sam said. “Even if no one else ever does. You are the true King, and the kind of man who would make this world a better place. Like you did for the Wildlings, and the North,” Sam said quietly, and left the Crypt.

Jon ran a hand through his hair and walked over to the statue of Lyanna Stark. His mother. He wanted to scream that it wasn’t true, but it felt right. It was the only lie he could ever imagine Ned telling, a lie that would keep a promise to his dying sister and protect her son from a man who’d been his friend. The entire war had been based on a lie.

It also explained why he’d bonded with Rhaegal, the dragon must have sensed the truth about him. He shuddered then realizing that he’d had sex with his Aunt, his father’s sister. Targareyns might have made a habit of marrying their siblings, but he had most definitely not grown up seeing that as normal. It had been the reason he’d fought so hard against the simmering tension between him and Sansa since she’d come to him at Castle Black. It was a sudden relief that she wasn’t his sister, and it wasn’t entirely wrong to want her. He still didn’t know what he wanted to do yet, but he’d wanted to know where he came from his entire life. Now that he finally knew, it felt wrong to deny it. He didn’t care about the Throne, Daenerys could have it for all he cared. He’d defeat the dead and help her defeat Cersei…because Sansa would never be safe as long as she was alive, but then…he wanted to come home to Winterfell. And to Sansa.

**o.o.O.o.o**

“Come in.” Daenerys was looking out her window at the frozen wasteland of the North. She was wrapped in a warm blanket and the fire was burning high in the grate, but she couldn’t get rid of this bone-aching cold. The people here were as cold as their homeland, and none more so than Jon’s sister, the Lady of Winterfell. The other woman seemed carved from the snow and ice that surrounded this horrible place.

“You called for me, your Grace?” Varys bowed respectfully as he came in and closed the door behind him.

“Tell me everything you can about Sansa Stark.” She turned her eyes away from the gathering night and looked at her Master of Whispers.

“Did you find the information I gave you at Dragonstone lacking?” He frowned a little.

“Nothing in the information you gave me prepared me for her open contempt and blatant disrespect,” Dany replied sharply. It had caught her off guard and she didn’t like surprises. “Clearly, there must be more. Tell me absolutely everything you know about her.”

“As you wish, your Grace.” Varys nodded and once his Queen had taken a seat by the fire, he settled down across from her. “Lady Stark is the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark. From what I was able to gather before she came to King’s Landing at thirteen, she had a very sheltered life here at Winterfell. She was a consummate lady, who excelled in her lessons under Septa Mordane. When King Robert came to Winterfell after the murder of Jon Arryn, he proposed a marriage between his eldest son, Joffrey Baratheon, and Sansa. A way to join their Houses finally, since Ned’s sister Lyanna had been Robert’s intended. Ned was named the Hand of the King and headed to King’s Landing. Her younger sister was brought along as a companion for her. By all accounts she was pleased with the match, but that didn’t last terribly long.” He frowned. 

“Each of the Stark children had a pet direwolf, and there was an altercation between Joffrey and Arya on the road South. No one ever spoke the truth of it, but Arya’s direwolf attacked the boy and mauled his arm. Not horribly, but enough that he would carry a scar. Sansa refused to lay blame on anyone, and the Queen ordered the execution of Sansa’s direwolf in place of Arya’s…which had run off after the attack. Ned did the deed himself, and killed his daughter’s wolf. This seemed to drive a wedge between the girl and her father, and between her and her sister.” Varys shook his head and continued his tale telling of the cooled relationship between Joffrey and Sansa, as well as the strains of King’s Landing on Ned. He spared no details.

“After Robert’s death and Ned’s imprisonment, Sansa pleaded before the Court for mercy for her father. Poor sweet child went down on her knees before the Iron Throne and begged Joffrey to spare him, if he had any affection in his heart for her. He promised mercy for Ned, if he confessed his crimes. The agreement had been to strip Ned of his title, and send him North to the Wall to take the Black. His son would be confirmed as Lord of Winterfell, and Sansa’s engagement to the King would stand. That would have ensured peace in the Realm, and was the smartest decision given the mess we were left with.”

“How old was she?” Dany asked.

“Only just fourteen. Cersei had the girl standing beside her on the steps of the Sept of Balor, when Joffrey commanded Ned’s head to be cut off. I will always remember her screams as she begged for someone, anyone, to stop it. No one did. She watched as they cut off his head, and the poor girl passed out from the shock. Afterwards, Joffrey took Sansa up onto the battlements of the Red Keep and showed her the heads of her father, her Septa, and the members of her father’s household where they were stuck on spikes. When she didn’t react in the manner he wanted, he had Ser Meryn strike her. The first of many beatings she received at his hand. Every time Robb Stark won a battle in the field, she was beaten. Cersei and her son terrorized that girl until she managed to escape. You already know about her forced marriage to Tyrion, at least he tried to shield her, but he could do only so much. I admit, I was glad when she escaped the Capitol, even though I feared for her. Escaping the Lannisters, only to end up in Little Finger’ hands…I wasn’t sure that was an improvement. Though I was commanded to find her, I admit I never looked too hard.”

“You felt sorry for her.” Daenerys nodded quietly. Given the circumstances, she couldn’t help but feel for the girl herself.

“I did. Then word came that somehow she’d fallen into the hands of the Boltons and I knew Little Finger had sold her to them to further some game or plot of his. I find it highly unlikely that he was unaware of Ramsey Bolton’s proclivities, they were well known even to me. That man revelled in every kind of torture and depravity you can imagine, and likely even some you cannot. What he did to Sansa Stark, I can only speculate and marvel in the fact that she is standing at all. She escaped Winterfell and made it all the way to Castle Black and to Jon. From there they retook the North together. She must have reached out to Little Finger at some point and convinced him to bring the Vale Knights to her aid.”

“What sort of man was this Little Finger?” she asked.

“He was the most dangerous man I have ever known. He was more than a match for me, and we played against one another often when we both served Robert Baratheon. He was nearly impossible to predict and secretive in a way that I can only admire. He sowed dissent and chaos everywhere he could, and always found a way to capitalize on others misfortunes.”

“And she found a way to get the best of him.” Dany frowned a little. She couldn’t quite fathom the pretty, reserved woman she’d met being some secret master of the Great Game. It seemed unlikely, but the facts were staring her right in the face. 

“A case of the student surpassing the master, perhaps,” Varys said. “My little birds tell me that she has ruled well and wisely in Jon’s absence, and that the bonds between the Stark children are now more solid than they have ever been. She has gained the respect of the Northern Lords who passed her over when they chose Jon as their King, despite the fact that it was her knights that won the battle.”

“They passed her over because she’s a woman,” Dany said quietly, able to comprehend the hostility now. She’d had her birthright taken from her, and given to a man who had then just seemingly thrown it away. She could understand the resentment and anger because she would have felt the same way. They had a great deal in common and perhaps there could be a way to find some middle ground. She was also likely concerned for her brother, not knowing Dany’s intentions or feelings for Jon. All they had been through together to win back Winterfell had likely strengthened the bond between them. It was natural to be protective.

“That is likely so, your Grace,” Varys said. “Tyrion tells me she is an intelligent woman, so I am sure that you can both come to an understanding, with some effort on both sides. You both care very much for your people, and I am sure her reserve is because of her worries about them. Southern rulers have visited much suffering on the North, particularly in recent years.”

“Thank you, I think I have a better understanding of her now.” She gave him a small smile. “Do you know where Jon is?”

“The last I saw of him, he was heading down to the Crypts.” He stood and bowed respectfully. “Was there anything else I can do for you tonight, my Queen?”

“No, it’s been a long journey. I’m sure we could all do with some sleep.” She dismissed him. 


	3. Tarnished Knights

**o.o.O.o.o**

The ride north had been long, but in all honesty Jaime welcomed the time to put his thoughts together. He knew well that death was likely waiting for him at Winterfell, either at the hands of a vengeful dragon Queen or the undead he’d pledge to fight. Only a small handful of his own men had come with him, willing to follow despite Cersei’s orders. He appreciated every one of them. It wasn’t much, but it was the best he could do. He only hoped that they might make some small difference against the coming storm.

They had travelled up through the Neck, making the best time that they could. They’d kept cloaks on over their armour, hiding who they were as they travelled among the Northerners. The talk as they’d moved steadily north had caught his interest, tales of the Lady of Winterfell and the King in the North circulated in the taverns. The boy he’d met all those years ago as the bastard of Winterfell had become King in the North, at least until he’d bent the knee to the Targaryen woman. The change in Jon Snow when he’d seen him at the Dragon Pit had been striking. He remembered the first time he’d met him, the boy had been so young and idealistic. Foolish and greener than grass. The years had stripped him of his childish dreams of honour and brotherhood, and replaced it with the familiar realization that it was merely a group composed of men. Flawed men, who cared little for the tenants of the organization they were pledged to. They had both learned the hard way that men were often corrupt and cruel at their core. Now they were both free of the mistakes of their youth. And about to do something much stupider.

Winterfell rose up out of the darkness as they approached. It was late, but there was a bustle of activity even now. He looked back at his men, and they nodded. The chances of them being summarily executed here high, but they were still willing to follow him. He rode forward, past the fires of the encamped Dothraki and Unsullied. The knot in his gut just grew tighter. He dismounted and handed his horse off to a young man who moved up to take him.

“He’s come a long way, give him a good rub down,” he said. The boy nodded and led him away toward the stable area. He turned toward the hall and froze. Sitting there in his wheeled chair, was Brandon Stark. The boy he’d crippled. He didn’t know how he was alive, but he would never forget that face. Not if he lived to be a hundred. A wave of self-loathing crashed into him as he was forced to face the consequences of his past.

“I…” he started to say, but was stopped as a group of Unsullied approached and levelled their spears at him.

“You and your men will surrender your weapons and come with us.” One of them barked.

Jaime sighed and removed his sword belt awkwardly, he nodded to his men to do the same. Their weapons were taken and they were led away from the hall, into an area that seemed to be a vacant kennel, of sorts. His nose curled at the rank smell, but he didn’t protest as he was locked inside and his men were placed into the cell beside him.

“The Queen will deal with you tomorrow.” The Unsullied growled and left them there, in the dark and cold.

Jaime swore to himself and raked his good hand through his hair. There was nothing he could now, except wait for the morning. He sat down on the dank stone and rested his head against the wall. It was much later when he heard the ring of feet on stone, the steps lighter than the unsullied. He blinked in disbelief as a woman appeared, a woman who could only be Sansa Stark. In that moment, her resemblance to her mother struck him like a lightning bolt. It was just like that night in the Stark’s war camp, with the Karstarks howling for his blood and Catelyn had come to him. She was dressed in grey and stood with Brienne just behind her. He stiffly got to his feet.

“Lady Stark,” he said and nodded. He barely recognized the girl his brother had been forced to marry.

“Ser Jaime, you have my apologies for your treatment. This was not under my orders,” Sansa said. “I will have food brought for you and your men once we’re done here, I know you have travelled far.”

“That is most kind,” he said, eyes flicking to Brienne for a moment.

“Lady Brienne saw them arrest you and came to me. She is a most determined advocate for your character,” Sansa said as if considering something. “Why did you come? You must have known this would be the welcome waiting for you without the Lannister army at your back. A scant dozen fighters is hardly enough to appease the Targaryen Queen.”

“I came because I gave my word,” Jaime said simply. “My men came because they believed in me, and this fight is important enough to risk the chance that I might not live to see the first blows struck,” he said.

“Brienne…wait for me by the door. I will speak with him alone.” Sansa’s cool blue eyes seemed to bore into him, and he felt a chill pass through his bones.

“My Lady,” Brienne said, but gave him a long look before going.

“She cares for you.” Sansa allowed herself a small, sad smile. “Did you come here for her?”

“I came to fight with her,” Jaime said. “I give you my word that I had no other reason than that. Will you let me say goodbye to her? I have a feeling that this may be my last night on this earth.” He sighed and approached the bars. It seemed too much to hope that a Lady Stark could save him twice in one lifetime.

“Your sister has made Daenerys look like a fool, she’ll want your head to try and save face. Given what your family did to mine, the Northern Lords will scarcely blink while she does it. They may even cheer,” Sansa said.

“It was war, everything I did was for my family. I won’t apologize for that,” he said, looking into the young woman’s eyes. She didn’t even blink at the force of his words, seemingly confident that the bars would hold him. Or that Brienne could protect her if they didn’t. 

“I can save you,” Sansa said. “But you will owe me your future service, if we survive the battle with the dead.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll let you say your goodbyes to Brienne, and I’ll send your charred remains back to your sister. If the dragons leave anything when they’re done with you.”

Jaime frowned for a long moment, Brienne’s words to him in the Riverlands coming back to the front of his mind. _‘I don’t think you know many girls like her.’_ It seemed that she’d been right.

“If you can find a way to get me and my men through tomorrow alive, then I will do whatever service you ask of me. If we don’t all die fighting the dead,” Jaime said. “I swear it.”

“I will pretend as though we have not spoken tomorrow, play along. I’ll give you a few moments with Brienne and then we must go.”

“Thank you, my lady.” He said, a rare bit of sincerity in his tone. He gave her a small half-bow. “And…if you cannot save me, save my men. They are blameless,” he asked.

The young Lady of Winterfell simply inclined her head before walking away, disappearing into the dark like a ghost. Brienne came forward a moment later and he reached through the bars, taking her hand. He could lie to everyone else, but it was true. He had come here for her, so that she wouldn’t have to die alone. Renly had once saved her at a ball, but he wanted to truly save her. Even if it was just once.

“You shouldn’t have come.” Brienne squeezed his hand.

“I had to. I gave my word, and I am a knight afterall,” Jaime joked a bit. “She cares about you.” He nodded in the direction Lady Stark had gone.

“She trusts me, and I would do anything I could to shield her from the world. Even if I must admit at times it feels like she needs me less and less,” Brienne said.

“If things go wrong tomorrow, don’t watch. I wouldn’t have you remember me like that,” Jaime said.

“You’re not…”

“Promise me. Please Brienne,” Jaime cut her off.

“I promise.” Tears glittered in her eyes. In that moment, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

**o.o.O.o.o**

Jaime Lannister. He was someone that she hadn’t interacted with often during her captivity in King’s Landing. He was very changed from the man she remembered riding into Winterfell, all those years ago. The years had not been kind to him, and there was a rawness in his face now, more evident in the light of day than it had been in the darkness of the kennels. The glittering gold had worn away to reveal the tired, tarnished man hiding underneath. The general feel of the room was not looking good for him, between the general disdain the Northerners had for the Lannisters and Daenerys’ own more personal grudge. She caught the short look over his shoulder at Brienne and she hoped that her plan would work. It all depended on Brienne’s ability to sway the room.

“You don’t know me, your Grace, but I know Ser Jaime. He is a man of honour.” Her words rang with conviction as she addressed the Targaryen Queen. “I was his captor once, but when we were both taken prisoner and the men holding us tried to force themselves on me, Ser Jaime defended me. And lost his hand because of it.” She then shifted her gaze over to meet Sansa’s eyes. “Without him, my lady, you would not be alive. He armed me, armoured me, and sent me to find you and bring you home. All because he’d sworn an oath to your mother.”

The simple mention of her mother brought a rush of emotion up that she had to fight to keep from showing on her face. In front of the Northern Lords and the Dragon Queen, she could afford no weakness. Her mother had once seen something in this man, she had no idea what, but she would find some use for him. Brienne had told her all of this last night as she had argued passionately for his life. 

“You vouch for him?” she asked.

“I do.”

“You would fight beside him?” Sansa could see a wealth of emotion in Brienne’s blue eyes, and she knew in that instant that her sworn sword was in love with the tarnished knight standing beside her. She didn’t know how or why, but it was true. Her heart ached because there was no one like that for her. The only person she would ever trust…she couldn’t have.

“I would,” Brienne replied, her voice never faltering.

“I trust you with my life. If you trust him with yours, then he should stay.” The odds of any of them surviving the battle against the dead were slim, and she owed Brienne so much. If her loyal protector could find any happiness with this man before the end, then she deserved the chance to do that. The Northern Lords knew of Brienne’s prowess in battle, and they also knew her to be an honourable woman. Her endorsement of Jaime would carry weight. They could also plainly see that Daenerys wanted him dead, and they would allow him to live if only to vex her. She could not tell the Dragon Queen what to do, but turning the feel of the room was just as effective. 

“What does the Warden of the North say about it?” Daenerys snapped.

“We need every man we can get,” Jon said after a short pause.

Sansa mentally smiled, grateful for that small amount of support. She knew he was walking a difficult line between her and Daenerys, but right now he needed to show the Northerns Lords that he was able to disagree with his Queen.

“Very well.” Daenerys looked to Grey Worm. The stoic Unsullied warrior crossed the room and shoved Jaime’s sword against his chest.

“Thank you, your Grace.” Ser Jaime gave a half-hearted bow, but his eyes briefly met Sansa’s and she could read the relief in them. 

Sansa stood a moment after Daenerys angrily shoved back her chair. She didn’t wait to follow her out, having other business to see to. She left quickly, putting the matter from her mind immediately. Lord Royce joined her moments later, and fell into step as they headed for the Lord’s Solar. She needed an update on his men, and the Northern armies. The matter of Jaime Lannister could wait, there was much she still needed to do before the dead arrived. 

**  
  
**

**o.o.O.o.o**

Jon left the Great Hall after Jaime Lannister’s trial, and went for a walk. He didn’t like being in the middle between Sansa and Daenerys, and that was exactly what had happened today. He knew that Dany was shocked that he’d sided with Sansa, but it had been the right decision. They did need every man they could get, particularly since Lord Glover and his 500 men had not come when called. He owed Brienne of Tarth a great debt for what she had done for Sansa, and it was clear even to him that the tall woman cared deeply for the Kingslayer.

Looking back, he realized now that Jaime had been trying to warn him, in his own way. He knew the history, Jaime Lannister had sworn himself to the Kingsguard when he was around the age that Jon had been when he’d sworn to the Night’s Watch. Words that he’d felt were insulting and demeaning at the time, had actually been a warning. He’d just been too damned stupid to listen.

He entered the Godswood, but avoided the Heart Tree. He knew that Bran was probably there, and with the thoughts running through his head, he didn’t really want to face that cold piercing gaze. It was unsettling and a part of him hoped that once they killed the Night King that the old magic’s hold on Bran would weaken and just maybe they could get him back.

He still didn’t know what to do about the truth of his birthright. He didn’t want to be king, he truly didn’t, but there was a dark fear about what would happen if Dany sat on the Iron Throne. He knew she expected the North’s obedience, and he also knew that Sansa would never kneel to anyone, not even to save her own life. The world had beaten her down for too long and left something harder than steel in its wake. Sansa truly was a Queen of Winter, and like the North she could be cold and deadly. There was a conflict coming between them, he could feel it, and he didn’t know what would happen once those two collided. Nothing good.

Jon paused and leaned against the wall that surrounded the Godswood and closed his eyes. He remembered what Tormund had said after meeting her, when they’d been alone. _‘She’s tough little thing your sister, didn’t think Southern ladies could be so hard. And she’s almost as pretty as you little Crow.’_ She was pretty, no beautiful, carved of ice and fire. Her smiles made him warm inside, even as her words could cut him down to the bone like harsh northern wind. She always knew how to drive her points home. He actually thanked the old gods that she’d never learnt to use a sword, or he’d be bleeding from more than just emotional wounds.

**  
  
**

**o.o.O.o.o**

**  
  
**

“You sent a Raven back to Lord Glover then?” Yohn Royce asked.

“I reminded him, again, that he is pledged to House Stark and that he’s defied a command by his Liege Lord. He’s broken faith with us before, and there will not be a third time. Once we are done with the dead, I intend to root him out of his keep and hang him for an Oathbreaker,” Sansa said calmly. Jon didn’t know about the raven she’d sent back last night, but since he was no long King in the North, she would discipline the banners as she saw fit.

“Your father would have been proud of you, my Lady.” He smiled a little sadly. “When the battle is won, I would be honoured to help you serve justice on him.”

“Thank you, I know my father would be comforted to know you were at my side,” Sansa said as they started going over the plans for the deployment of the Knight of the Vale and the Northern forces. They would finalize everything at a war council tonight, but he was her senior commander, and she trusted his advice. When she and Jon had retaken the North, her knowledge of war tactics had been sadly lacking. It was a gap in her education that Lord Royce was quickly filling. He’d taught her a great deal in the last few months, and she’d soaked up every word. In the coming fights against both the dead and Cersei, she’d need every advantage she could gain. 

“Once the last of the infantrymen are on the field, we should shut the gates.”

“No. Leave the gates open for as long as possible, there are still people coming in from the countryside,” she said and saw Daenerys enter the room. She stood, and handed the plans over to Lord Royce.

“Lady Sansa, I was hoping that we could speak alone,” Daenerys said. The words were phrased as a request, but Sansa was also aware that it was an order. She nodded to the commander of the Vale’s forces, and he left them, giving the Targaryen Queen a stiff bow on his way out. It was petty, but she appreciated that he didn’t like the other woman on principle.

“I thought you and I were on the verge of agreement before, about Ser Jaime.” She gave a little smile and approached.

“Brienne has been loyal to me, always. I trust her more than anyone.” Sansa was instantly on guard. They had not gotten off to a good start and this warm, open demeanour was enough to set her on edge. She wanted something.

“I wish I could have that kind of faith in my advisors.” She gave a little laugh that reminded Sansa of Margaery. Unlike the Tyrell beauty, the warmth didn’t quite make it to the Queen’s violet eyes.

“Tyrion is a good man. He was never anything but decent towards me.” She defended him. She knew now just how lucky she had been back then. She knew that had he insisted on consummating their marriage, there would have been little she could have done to stop him. Instead he’d been kind and respectful. 

“I didn’t ask him to be my Hand simply because he was good. I asked him to be my hand because he was good, and intelligent, and ruthless when he had to be.” There was a little swagger in her steps as she advanced to join Sansa at the table. “He never should have trusted Cersei.”

“You never should have either,” Sansa said pointedly. If Daenerys was going to play the game at this level, she needed to be able to read the others on the board as well as they could read her. Cersei had fooled her in the beginning, but she had been a child and not a Queen.

“I thought you knew his sister,” she replied, again with that false smile.

“Families are complicated.” She reciprocated, softening her expression. If Daenerys wanted to play, she would be rude to not oblige her. Little Finger’s voice whispered to her. _‘Everyone is your enemy, everyone is your friend.’_

“Ours certainly have been.” She gestured for Sansa to sit down.

“Sad thing to have in common,” Sansa said and settled back into her chair.

“We have other things in common. We’ve both known what it means to lead people who aren’t inclined to accept a woman’s rule. And we’ve both done a damned good job of it, from what I can tell. And yet I can’t help but feel that we’re at odds with one another, why is that?”

Sansa took the pause to look…conflicted. It was clear Daenerys wanted to bond and someone had given her just enough information to let her think that she knew her. Varys, of course.

“Your brother.” The Targaeryn Queen seized on that.

“He loves you, you know that.” Yes, she could play the overprotective sister to draw her in.

“And that bothers you?”

“Men do stupid things for women. They’re easily manipulated.” It wasn’t even untrue. Now it was time to see if Daenerys was any good at the game of faces. She and Arya played it quite often these days, and she had to admit it was a valuable skill to have. 

“All my life, I’ve known one goal: The Iron Throne. Taking it back from the people who destroyed my family, and almost destroyed yours, my war was against them.” Conviction was clear in her eyes and her voice. That much was at least true. “Until I met Jon. Now I’m here, half a world away fighting Jon’s war alongside him. Tell me, who manipulated whom?”

Jon’s war. The choice of words was telling. A true Queen would have come to fight for the people she wanted to rule, not just appease some lover, like it was a favour that she was here. Her tone was manipulative, each expression chosen carefully. She didn’t believe a word of it. She summoned a little smile and leaned in, placing her hands on the table. 

“I should have thanked you, the moment you arrived.” That was exactly what the Targaryen Queen had wanted, for everyone to just fall down at her feet. “That was a mistake.”

“I’m here because I love your brother.” Daenerys took the bait and covered Sansa’s hands with one of her own. “I trust him, and I know he’s true to his word. He’s only the second man in my life I can say that about.”

“Who was the first?” A hot stab of jealousy raced through her again. This woman didn’t deserve Jon’s love, trust, and loyalty.

“Someone taller.” She joked and Sansa joined her in a little laugh.

“And what happens afterwards?” Sansa asked, still being warm and open. “We defeat the dead, we destroy Cersei, what happens then?” She asked as if she didn’t know exactly what Daenerys would say.

“I take the Iron Throne,” she said, a little confused by the question.

“What about the North?” Sansa asked then, letting the openness and humour slip off her face. “It was taken from us and we took it back and we said we’d never bow to anyone ever again. What about the North?” Daenerys recoiled from her as if she’d been burnt and Sansa tilted her head ever so slightly. Daenerys would force them all to bend the knee, because what she really wanted was power and control over all of them. “If you can’t play the game better than this, Cersei is going to eat you alive,” Sansa said.

“Excuse me?”

“One of your advisors suggested you come and talk to me, to try and find a way to bridge the divide between us. There’s never been a lasting peace in Westeros without a strong relationship between the North and Iron Throne. You tried to use my love for Jon to forge a connection between us, but you couldn’t read me half as well as I was reading you,” Sansa said. “Playing the game in the North is a mistake, it’s only really effective South of the Neck. You’re more likely to offend someone, than you are to gain anything.”

“Ser Jorah suggested I try to speak with you,” Daenerys owned.

“Jorah Mormont was condemned to death for selling poachers to Tyroshi slavers. Engaging in slavery is a crime that carries the punishment of death here. He fled Westeros in dishonour, rather than face my father. I have let him into my home because he is a member of your household, but I would be within my rights to have him executed. I won’t, but he knows full well that I could.” She paused there to let that sink in. “The North Remembers, Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen. They remember those that break our laws, they remember those that have wronged us. This is a harsh place and only through loyalty to one another have we survived. Having a man like that at your side will not endear you to my people. And while Jon has been adamant that you are not your father, your family’s crimes against mine are a mountain that you will need to work to climb. That is simply the way the North is. I am the Lady of Winterfell, and my place is to stand for the interests of the people of the North. If I fell to your feet thanking you, before you’d done anything to help us, that would be a betrayal of the trust and love my people have for me. Once we defeat the dead, perhaps that can change,” Sansa said. 

“I appreciate your honesty, Lady Sansa,” Daenerys said and frowned a little. “It seems that my advisors have failed me yet again.”

“Tyrion is not from the North, Varys has lived in the South for many years and is from across the Narrow Seas, and Ser Jorah does not know me. There is no way they could have advised you sufficiently. I am a Northerner, but I lived in the Capitol for years and learned how to play the game from some of its most brutal players. I could be a voice to advise you, but that is of course a decision only you can make,” she said sincerely. Jon thought this woman could be a good Queen, and she wanted to believe him. Being her advisor would keep her close, and give her the ability to steer things to the conclusion that would benefit the North most. If nothing else it would let her know what this woman was up to, and let them get ahead of her if necessary.

The door opened then, and Maestor Wolkan entered.

“Forgive me, your Grace.”

“What is it?”

“Theon Greyjoy and a number of his men are here, and have requested to see you.” He bowed respectfully.

“We will revisit this later, Lady Stark,” Daenerys said and stood, following the Maestor out of the room.

Sansa rose and followed her. It was incredibly hard to keep from rushing ahead, and she had to remind herself that only Brienne, Podrick, and Jon really knew what Theon had done for her. She needed to try and maintain her persona as the Lady of Winterfell.

Their eyes met as she entered the room, and her throat nearly closed up at the emotions that filled her. He was the only one who knew what Ramsey had done to her, and could possibly ever understand what she’d suffered. She cried sometimes thinking about what Ramsey had done to him, reduced him to. The man standing there was the Theon she remembered from her childhood, proud and strong.

He walked over and went down to one knee, supplicating himself before the Dragon Queen.

“My Queen.” He rose smoothly.

“Your sister?”

“She only has a few ships, and she couldn’t sail them here. So she’s sailing them home, to retake the Iron Islands in your name,” he said warmly.

“But why aren’t you with her?” Daenerys frowned, a clear look of confusion crossing her face. That was when Sansa realized that she didn’t know about her connection to Theon, at least not the depth of it.

Theon’s head turned and he met Sansa’s eyes.

“I want to fight for Winterfell, Lady Sansa. If you’ll have me.”

Sansa could see the hesitation in his eyes, as if he expected her to reject him even now. She crossed the room, not caring who was watching and wrapped her arms around him. She felt him stiffen for a moment and then he wrapped his arms around her, and held her tightly. She wasn’t sure how long they stood like that before she pulled back and smiled at him. “We would be honoured to have you and your men fight for Winterfell, Lord Greyjoy.”

“Then we are yours, my Lady.” He bowed respectfully to her.

“Maestor Wolkan, find food and lodgings for these men.” She took a deep breath and got a hold of herself. She knew they were only a few men, but she felt better for having Theon there. She nodded politely to Daenerys and left the hall. She was aware the woman had been staring at her like she had three heads, but that didn’t matter. Theon had finally come home. The wolves of Winterfell were together, and they would face the coming storm as one. 

  
  


**o.o.O.o.o**

Jon passed through the courtyard, seeing Davos serving food up to the smallfolk that had fled here for safety. So many had come, and he felt the weight of their lives sitting on his shoulders. All the people here at Winterfell were depending on them to defeat the Night King and his army of the dead. It was a great responsibility, but if they didn’t stand and fight now…they’d never be able to stop running. The blast of a horn caught his attention, and he headed for the gate to see who had come in.

The gate opened and a few riders entered, and he felt a warm smile cross his lips. Sam got there first and drew Ed into a warm embrace. It was a relief to see him there, alive and well. He strode across the yard and was promptly barrelled over by the massive form of Tormund.

“My little crow!” He smiled warmly down at Jon.

“I thought we’d lost you.” He’d been certain that the Wildling leader had died at Eastwatch, but it gave him hope that perhaps they could come through this.

“Almost.” He nodded and moved back.

Jon embraced Ed, relieved that they were here, alive and ahead of the Dead. He shook Berric’s hand and looked at the three men.

“How did you find each other?” If Tormund had been fleeing from Eastwatch, and Ed was coming from Castle Black…

“We met up at the Last Hearth,” Ed said. 

“The dead got there first.” Tormund’s face was grave.

“The Umbers?” He had to ask, though it was a foregone conclusion that they were all dead. Perhaps appointing a small boy to lead them had been a mistake, a man would have been quicker to gather his people and ask for the help needed rather than waiting to be pressed on the matter. 

“Fighting for the Night King now.” Berric said, shaking his head a bit.

“We had to travel around them to get here. Whoever’s not here now, is with them.” 

“How long do we have?” Jon asked. His stomach fell down around his knees. It was too soon. They weren’t ready. 

“Before the sun comes up tomorrow.” Tormund met his eyes seriously. “The big woman still here?” He asked then, a smile creeping across his face.

“Somewhere, probably with my sister.” Jon chuckled and clapped his arm. “Come, you’ll need some food. Dragon glass weapons are at the forge, everyone should get one.” He took charge. It wasn’t enough time, but now they knew and needed to plan. He took them into the Castle, and called for someone to find Sansa and tell her to meet him in the war room. 


	4. Calm Before the Storm

Before the sun comes up tomorrow. Jon’s words slid like ice through her veins. Sansa stood at his side, looking down on the map of the battlefield. She could see the way it was laid out, and it was pure selfishness that led her not to comment on the division of the different forces. Before the Battle of the Bastards she had been happily ignorant of the brutal realities of war, but now she knew how to read the board and how the armies were likely to clash. Daenerys’ people were going to take the brunt of things. She knew it was because the Dragon Queen and her advisors saw the Westerosi forces as inferior. If it saved some Northern lives, she wasn’t about to argue it. 

Brienne would be commanding the left flank, and she was worried. She would have Ser Jaime at her side and a number of very experienced soldiers, but there was a knot in her gut thinking about the fact that she could lose her. She lifted her eyes to scan over the different faces standing around the table, and wondered how many would live to see the new dawn. Would any of them?

“They’re coming. We have dragon glass and Valyrian steel. But there are too many of them, far too many. Our Enemy doesn’t tire, doesn’t stop, doesn’t feel. We can’t beat them in a straight fight.” The cadence of Jon’s voice wrapped around her, giving voice to her own fears and doubts about this.

“The more important question is what can we do?” Jaime Lannister spoke then.

“The Night King made them all, they follow his command. At Hardhome, when I killed a White Walker…all the dead he commanded were destroyed too. So, if he falls…getting to him might be our best chance. Our only chance,” Jon said.

“If that’s true, he’ll never expose himself. The smart play would be to just sit back and let his forces destroy us completely.” Jaime shook his head.

It was exactly what Sansa had been thinking. There was no reason for him to come out into the open when he had all the advantages in this fight.

“Yes he will.” Bran spoke from the back of the room then. “He’ll come for me. He’s tried before, many times with many Three-Eyed Ravens.”

“Why? What does he want?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know.” A shadow crossed over Bran’s face as he admitted that. “The visions I get of him are…confused, each one different. I know he’s blocking me, and this is one thing I can’t tell you. But for some reason he does want me dead.”

Sansa could see Bran’s fear now, and knew that for once he didn’t have the answers. He was just as blind as the rest of them when it came to the Night King. It was almost reassuring that for once, they were all in the dark together. Tonight, he was just Brandon Stark and just as afraid of the future as they were. 

“How will he find you?” Tyrion asked then, breaking the tense silence.

“His mark is on me. He always knows where I am.” Bran pulled back his sleeve, exposing the black imprint of fingers against his forearm.

“We’ll put you in the Crypts, where it’s safest,” Jon said.

“No. We need to draw him into the open, before his army destroys us all,” Bran said. “I’ll wait for him in the Godswood.”

“You want us to use you as bait?” Sansa said. The idea of leaving him out there, alone and in the path of those things was...unacceptable. She’d just gotten her family back and she could lose all of them tonight. 

“We’re not leaving you alone out there.” Arya seemed to be on the same page.

“He won’t be,” Theon said. “I’ll stay with him, with the Ironborn.” He paused a moment and then looked right at Bran. “I took this castle from you, let me defend you now.”

There was nothing but silence for a long moment, but finally Bran nodded quietly.

“We’ll hold off the rest for as long as we can,” Davos said, breaking the silence and drawing them back to the board.

“When the time comes, Ser Davos and I will be on the walls to signal you to light the trench,” Tyrion said, looking at Daenerys.

“Ser Davos is perfectly capable of waving a torch on his own. You’ll be in the Crypt,” Daenerys interrupted him.

“Your Grace, I have fought before and I can do it again alongside the men and women risking their lives…” Tyrion argued with her.

“There are thousands of them and only one of you. You can’t fight as well as they can, but you can think better than any of them. You’re here because of your mind, if we survive I’ll need it,” Daenerys said firmly.

“The dragons should give us an edge in the field,” Ser Davos said.

“If they’re in the field, they’re not protecting Bran. We need to be near him. Not so close that the Night King doesn’t come, but close enough to pursue when he does,” Jon said.

“Perhaps a division then, one to lay in wait and one to support the armies from the air?” Jaime suggested. “That way you’re not leaving Bran exposed, but not abandoning the men either.” He locked eyes with Jon who nodded after a moment.

“Will dragon fire stop him?” Arya looked back to Bran.

“I don’t know. No one’s ever tried.”

“We’re all going to die,” Tormund said then. “But at least we die together.”

“Lets get some rest,” Jon said, staring down hard at the board.

Slowly people started to file out, and Sansa paused at the door, looking back as Jon bit out a tense ‘Your Grace’ and escaped before Daenerys could speak to him. She watched as the Dragon Queen left through a different door. Something was wrong, and it was pricking at her mind. Theon touched her shoulder, drawing her attention back to him.

“You should eat something. I know you probably haven’t taken a moment to see to your own needs yet,” Theon said.

“There’s been so much to do…” She shook her head.

“Come and eat with me, no one should be alone tonight,” he said gently.

“I’ll meet you down in the yard in a bit, I just need to talk to Bran first.” Theon was right, she did tend to ignore her own needs particularly when there were so many things that still needed to be done. She knew that others could handle the minor details, but there was so much riding on this that she needed to oversee it all. For her own peace of mind.

Bran was still sitting by the fire and saw that Tyrion seemed to want to speak to him, but her matter was more pressing.

“I’d like a few words with my brother alone, if you don’t mind, Lord Tyrion,” Sansa said as she approached.

“Of course not, Lady Stark. I should find my own brother.” He chuckled and nodded to them as he left and closed the door behind him. Bran’s cold gaze locked on hers as she sat down.

“You probably already know what I want to ask.”

“You dislike when I speak as though I can read your mind,” Bran gave a small smile. “Ask your question, and I will answer if I can.”

“Am I right about her?” she asked, not needing to elaborate. Normally, she wouldn’t seek Bran’s knowledge of the larger world and the rippling consequences of their actions. It felt too unnatural to her, but this time she questioned her own judgement because of her emotions.

o.o.O.o.o

Bran looked at his sister, the part of him that was still Brandon Stark fighting to stay for her. Of all the hundreds of different possible futures he had seen play out through his dreams, there had only been one where she had come to see him after the war council. This was one of the few futures he wanted to come to pass. He could see the conflict, a rare bit of self doubt in her face.

“Why do you doubt your instincts?” he asked, head tilting to the side.

“Because I don’t know if it’s because I’m seeing things as they are, or if I dislike her because…” she trailed off and looked away, eyes going to the fire.

“Because you’re in love with him,” Bran said very gently.

Sansa turned back to him, eyes wide in shock and a fair amount of shame. There was no denial that came from her lips, but it was clear that he had again caught her off guard. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment, the self-loathing that flowed over her features, twisted something in his heart and he wished he could just tell her everything, but he couldn’t. It was not his secret to tell.

“I’m no better than Cersei,” she whispered and looked back at the fire, a glint of tears in her eyes.

“You are.” Bran reached over and touched her hand. “You are not her, and her fate is not yours.”

“What kind of woman falls in love with her brother? What has to be…broken in you to feel like that?” Sansa looked back at him, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“You’re not broken Sansa,” Bran said, pushing away the other part of himself to be here for her. “You’re my sister, and you are beautiful. You suffered, but you survived and there is nothing wrong with you.” He squeezed her hand hard, fighting to hold onto himself in this moment. He had one chance to make things happen the right way, to stave off the hundreds of futures where things went horribly wrong and the people he loved ended up living alone and bitter for the rest of their days. He had one chance for them to be happy.

“There’s a lot wrong with me, with all of us.” She gave him a sorrowful smile.

“We’ve been changed, but we’re still family. I need you to do something for me tonight,” he said. “Go and eat dinner with Theon, sit out with your people and be there for the ones who are alone. Once the song has been sung, go to the crypts. Jon has something to tell you, and if he doesn’t tell you tonight…it will be too late.” His eyes were intense.

“What song?” Sansa frowned.

“You’ll know,” Bran said and released her hand. “Promise me, that you’ll do this. Please.”

Sansa’s eyes searched his face and she nodded. She got up and hugged him tightly, her face buried in his neck. For just a moment, it felt like none of the last years had happened and they were just the Stark children again. Back before she had become the Lady of Winterfell and he had turned into the Three-Eyed Raven, when they’d just been brother and sister. He returned it, holding tightly to the feeling. In this moment, even with all his knowledge of what was to come, he was afraid. Afraid that somehow he was wrong, that his visions weren’t accurate and that the Night King was hiding something from him. Something that would take his family away from him again.

“We’re going to be ok, Bran,” Sansa whispered.

“How do you know?” Bran whispered back, holding her even tighter. Even with all his visions, he didn’t know. Not for certain.

“Because our stories aren’t over yet, and we didn’t survive everything, just to die here,” Sansa said fiercely. “So you are going to live. You are going to see the Night King defeated, and you will be Brandon Stark again. Do you hear me?”

“Stay alive, Sansa. You know the Crypts aren’t as safe as we want them to be, and what lives in the lowest levels,” he warned her. “Take the dagger when she offers it, find the horn, and protect your people.” It was as much as he could give her, and he only prayed that it was enough. He could draw the Night King to the weirwood tree, but it would not be him that made the killing blow. 

“I will,” Sansa said and moved back, looking at him. “I love you Bran and I know you’re still in there. You are a Stark of Winterfell, and winter is here.”

“In the Winter we must protect ourselves, look after one another.” Bran smiled then, their father’s words filling the cold void in his heart with warmth. “You should go, Theon will be waiting,” Bran said as he felt the otherness seeping back, pushing Bran down from the surface. He needed to prepare and this would be the greatest test he had ever faced. Sansa just nodded and left the room, wiping away her tears and pulling the mantle of the Lady of Winterfell around her again. For just a moment, he saw a shimmer of the future. Her hair fell loose around her and a silver crown settled on her head. It disappeared in the blink of an eye, but he hoped it would come to pass. 

o.o.O.o.o

Daenerys had never liked being alone. It made her feel uncomfortably small and insignificant. Yet here she was, on the eve of battle and achingly alone. She found herself walking along one of the balconies overlooking the main yard. Below she could see Jon’s adviser, Ser Davos, serving hot soup to the small folk. The Northerners had gathered to share a meal and she spotted Jon’s sister sitting down among her people with Theon. She wasn’t sure what it was about the girl that unsettled her, but there was something about the Lady of Winterfell that left her wary and on guard. Her alliances with other powerful women had been easy, all of them had accepted her rightful claim and been able to recognize that she understood the difficulties of leading men who often thought less of a woman, simply because of her sex.

Sansa was different. It was clear that she understood the strength of both Daenerys’ claim and her armies, but she did not bend. There was a reluctant acceptance of her, but no real bond. With Jorah’s urging, she had tried to find some common ground, lowering herself to talking with the other woman like an equal, but even that had gone spectacularly wrong. What she knew of the other woman’s story wasn’t so different from her own, they’d both been traded like nothing more than breeding stock and come to harm by it. They’d both fought hard to get to here, and maybe that was the ultimate problem. The Northern crown was Sansa’s ancient birthright and acknowledging Daenerys’ would mean denying her own. It was a difficult problem, without a clear solution. Perhaps once the dead were defeated things could find a peaceful solution. She hoped that they could, because she would need the North to back her claim to the Iron Throne. And while she wanted to deny it, it was clear that the North would follow the Lady of Winterfell even before their former King.

As she walked, she heard the soft sound of a child crying. She frowned a little and ducked down, seeing a little girl hiding behind some crates of arrows. She was no more than six or seven, with pale blond hair and light blue eyes.

“Are you alright?” Dany asked.

“I can’t find my brother.” The little girl scrubbed at her tears and then her eyes widened as she saw who it was.

“Maybe I can help you find him?” She offered the little girl a hand, confused when she looked afraid. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“The boys say that you feed people to your dragons. I don’t want to be fed to a dragon.”

“Boys say silly things sometimes, I would never feed you to my dragons,” she said, a little twinge of guilt hit her as she remembered the charred bones of a little shepherd girl that her children had roasted and eaten.

“You promise?” The little girl asked.

“I swear it, by the old gods and the new,” she said and then the little girl reached out and took her hand. “What’s your name?” she asked and steered the little girl toward the steps to head down into the courtyard. Surely her parents or brother were down there somewhere.

“Dilys yer Grace,” she said. “Me…my brother’s name is Eamon.” The little girl frowned with the effort to speak properly.

“That’s a pretty name, Dilys. Are your parents here?” she asked.

“My father died fighting for King Rob, and my mum was killed by the Boltons,” she said softly and looked down at the ground. “After they killed the Boltons, Lady Stark took us in. She’s been having the Maestor teach us to read, and she’s been showing the girls how to sew. My brother’s been learning to tend to the horses, he wants to be a squire one day.” The little girl opened up more as they walked, and as they approached the tables, she ran off calling for her brother.

“Thank you, for bringing her back down here. She’s always finding herself in odd places,” Sansa said, coming to stand with her.

“She’s lost a lot,” Dany said, watching the girl go over and sit with a boy that looked maybe a year older who seemed to have been very worried. For a moment, it was like stepping back in time, and looking at herself and Viscerys, before things had gone so wrong. Two small orphans, all alone in the world. 

“A lot of people have, the wars have taken their toll.” Sansa shook her head. “Will you join us?” She offered.

“I…”

“No one should be alone tonight.” Sansa said and together they walked over to the rough tables and she sat down next to Theon, across from Sansa.

“I’ll get you some soup, my Queen.” Theon got up and went to grab her some.

“I didn’t realize you were so close to Theon,” Dany said, broaching the silence left between them.

“We were close as children, and he’s the only one who really understands what happened here with the Boltons.” Sansa picked up her cup and sipped it. “After everything we’ve been through…he’s part of my family, just as surely as my brothers and Arya.”

Dany nodded, but couldn’t quite put her finger on what Sansa was really feeling. It almost felt like the more time she spent around Jon’s beautiful sister, the less she could sense about her. Up until now, reading people had been her gift. She’d been able to guess what they really wanted and be the Queen they required. Sansa gave her nothing, and every time she thought she had a sense of who she was…it changed. She’d been sure that there was something romantic between her and Theon, but there had been truth in her words when she’d called him her brother. So, the question began to circle her mind. Who did Sansa love? 

Theon returned and offered a bowl of the simple soup. It wasn’t the kind of food she was used to eating these days, but there was something warm and comforting about it.

“Thank you,” Dany said.

“I apologize that it’s so simple, but there are many mouths to feed tonight,” Sansa said.

“There’s no need to apologize, it’s actually quite good.” Dany said, trying the hearty stew.

As they sat and ate together, Dany could hear something. A strange song, only bits of it carried on the night air. She noticed a small smile cross Sansa’s lips as she heard it too.

“Lady Stark?” Little Dilys was back. She nervously chewed at her bottom lip, looking a bit unsure about interrupting the Lady of Winterfell as she talked with the Queen.

“Yes? Is everything alright?” Sansa answered, her expression warming instantly for the little girl.

“What song is that, m’lady? We can’t really hear it,” she asked.

“That is called Jenny’s song,” Sansa said.

“Some of the cooks said that you used to sing, could you sing it for us? Please m’lady?” Dilys asked.

Dany watched as some of the other children came over.

“Just one song, since you asked so nicely,” Sansa said indulgently. “But then you all need to go and finish your dinner and help get everything cleared away.”

Dany looked over at Theon, who had a soft smile on his lips. Clearly, a song from the Lady of Winterfell was a rare thing.

“High in the halls of the Kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts. The ones she had lost and the ones she had found, and the ones who had loved her the most,” Sansa began, her voice starting off soft but true.

Dany listened to the beautiful lyrics, it was a haunting song and quite sad. She could feel the depth of emotion behind it as Sansa continued the song, spinning verse after verse. The children looked just as transfixed by the tale of tragedy and loss. She felt tears shimmering in her eyes as the last verse finished. Across the yard she spotted Jorah, just as Sansa sang ‘and the ones who had loved her the most’. She shivered a little, meeting his eyes across the crowded space.

“Thank you m’lady.” Dilys said, shaking herself as Sansa finished the song.

“You’re welcome. Now, off you go. When you hear the horn, where do you all go?” Sansa asked them.

“To the crypts, m’lady.” The children echoed together and then scampered off.

“That was beautiful.” Dany managed to say.

“You’re kind to say so, I haven’t sung anything in a long time.” Sansa shook her head. “I should excuse myself, and make certain that all the supplies have been moved to the Crypt. Goodnight, your Grace.” Sansa stood and inclined her head elegantly, before she swept off toward the entrance to the Winterfell Crypts.

“I should take my leave as well.” Dany said and stood. She nodded to Theon and headed across the yard to find Jorah. If this could be their last night alive on this earth, she wanted to spend that time with someone she knew loved her more than anyone else in the world. She wasn’t so sure that was Jon anymore.

o.o.O.o.o

Jon stood in front of the statue of his mother. His emotions were all still tangled into a knot in his gut, the truth of his past a looming darkness that he knew could bring chaos and destruction to the people he cared about if it became known. He heard footfalls on the stone, and didn’t need to turn around to know that it was her. Jon would know her steps anywhere.

“Sansa,” he said and turned, watching as she came around the corner. She looked…beautiful. Her black armour was covered by the heavy cloak. The air down here was warm, or perhaps it was just how she made him feel.

“Jon.” She came to stand beside him, looking up at the statue of Lyanna. “Bran told me you’d be here.”

“What else did he tell you?” Jon asked, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat.

“He said you had something to tell me.” She turned and looked at him in the dim candle light. She was standing just a little bit too close, and the desire to pull her even closer hit him like a mace. “He said that it needed to be now because later would be too late.”

Her eyes were just so blue, almost shining in the torch light. He reached out and stroked his hands down her arms, taking her hands in his. If Bran was sending her to him here, it was time for her to know. If he fell defending Winterfell, defending her, he needed her to know his heart. He didn’t want to die with her thinking that he’d betrayed everything they’d worked so hard to build here. He needed her to know that he loved her.

“I’m not a bastard, Sansa,” he said quietly. “I never was. I’m not Ned Stark’s son. He lied to protect me, because he promised my mother that he’d keep me safe. My mother was Lyanna Stark and my father was Rhaegar Targaeryn. He didn’t kidnap her or rape her. They ran away together, and he married her in secret. They loved each other…loved me. My real name is Aegon Targaeryn.” He didn’t waste words trying to skirt around the issue. He gave her the truth, so she could decide how she felt.

He watched her intently, to track the play of emotion across her stunned features. Confusion and shock were starting to give way to something that looked strangely like relief and almost hope.

“You’re not my brother,” Sansa said and closed her eyes, leaning into him and resting her forehead against his. “Thank the Gods.”

“I love you Sansa.” He closed his eyes and just soaked in the feel of her so close. He could feel the warmth of her skin and the soft puffs of her breath. Her hands squeezed his tightly. “I’ve loved you for longer than I’ve known who I really am. I didn’t want to admit it, but it’s true. The moment you rode into Castle Black and I took you in my arms, it was like coming home. When I was at Dragonstone, all I wanted was to get back here, to you.” He pulled back a little, needing to see her face. There were tears slipping down her cheeks and for a moment he thought he’d messed it all up. But then she smiled and it drew an answering smile from her lips.

“Father told me once that one day he’d make me a match with someone who was worthy of me. Someone who was brave, gentle, and strong. I never dreamed that I would have that, not even for just one perfect moment,” she said and lifted her hand to touch his cheek, her thumb tracing the scar. “But here you are, and I’ve loved you for longer than I should have too,” she admitted it, her eyes never wavering from his.

Jon raised a hand to cover hers, bringing her palm to his lips and he pressed a kiss to her skin.

“We can’t let her find out. Not until after the battle…and maybe not even then,” Sansa said, her normally pale face flushed as her eyes fixed on his lips.

“We need to tell her. She deserves to know,” Jon said.

“You don’t understand. If you’re Rhaegar’s true born son, that makes you the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and not her. She’s not the kind of woman to tolerate threats to her throne. You can say you don’t want it, but you may not have a choice,” Sansa said quietly. “For now…no one else can know.”

“But if no one else knows…” Jon frowned.

“We know. Right now that is what matters. That and surviving this battle.” Sansa closed her eyes for a moment, to wrestle her sudden fear.

“After the battle, we’ll decide what to do.” Jon could see the wisdom in that. Her eyes opened again and they nodded, decision made. The horn blast rang down through the crypt and he lifted her hands to his lips again, pressing a kiss to them. “Promise me you’ll be careful?”

“I promise,” Sansa said and reluctantly moved back as he released her hands.

“Then we’ll see each other when it’s done.” Jon made her that promise. He would find a way to get back to her, no matter what it took.

Sansa nodded as the second blast of the horn sounded. Together they left the Crypts and headed up to the wall, joining the others. Dany was there and the look of longing in her eyes had something in his gut twist uncomfortably. He had used her to gain the army they needed to defeat the dead. He knew there would be a reckoning for that at some point, he just prayed that they survived it.

“It’s time,” Jon said, resisting the urge to pull Sansa close just one more time.

“We should head to the dragons,” Dany said.

“Yes, your Grace.” He nodded and headed off with her, not looking back at Sansa where he left her on the ramparts. He had to trust that she would be alright. He’d never known a better survivor than her, and tonight she would need all the luck she could muster. They all would. 


End file.
